


As Life Would Have It

by Piano_Padawan



Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abuse, Crimes & Criminals, Damerux, Gingerpilot, Human Experimentation, Implied Sexual Content, MORE CHARACTERS AND SHIPS TO BE ADDED AS THEY APPEAR, Multi, Organized Crime, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 15:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piano_Padawan/pseuds/Piano_Padawan
Summary: Twenty years have passed since the start of the New Empire, since the insidious Supreme Leader Snoke’s succession of Emperor Palpatine restored the crumpling military and scattered the Rebellion...The orphan son of two Rebel fighters, Poe Dameron is barely scraping a living while indebted to the rising crime syndicates. After a chance encounter, he “rescues” a pair of enslaved twins in hopes of making a quick profit.Armitage and Techie, however, are far more than criminals wanted by the Empire. Their lives, Poe soon discovers, are the product of years of secret human experimentation. The results could pose either an invaluable advantage or a deadly threat to both sides of the war.AU sequel trilogy. Poe x Hux with some dark Reylo in future chapters.





	1. Dead Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Dredd. I do not own any of the characters, names, themes, etc. related to the movies, books or other media.
> 
> As with my other serious GingerPilot fanfic, the M rating is for violence, disturbing imagery and some mature/sexual themes.

The brothers run with no goal but escape. The first brother pulls the second along behind him as they dart down twisted corridors. Their pursuers shout in ire after them. The cacophony echoes off the walls, flooding the building.

“Where are we going?” asks the second brother. “Armitage, where are we going?”

The first brother doesn’t answer, only drags the former forward down the uncertain route.

The footsteps chasing them pound louder, closer. The first brother quickens their pace. One hand is wrapped around the other’s wrist. He clutches his own arm, where an old wound throbs with every step.

“Armitage… where are we…”

“I don’t know!” The first brother hisses. “Just keep up with me.”

He makes a sharp turn. His arm jerks downward as the second falls.

“Warn me before,” the latter says, as the first pulls him to his feet. “Warn me before you do that. I can’t…”

The plea is interrupted by the sound of furious voices behind them. They continue to run, weaving awkwardly through the halls. It reminds the first brother of a maze, like the puzzles he often faced as a child. He tries to recall the way their captors led them in, imitating the route to the best of his memory. It’s all a test. One convoluted, desperate test. He can practically hear the doctors’ commentary in the back as they scribble notes onto their datapads. _Fascinating, very fascinating…_

“Not that way!” the second brother screams.

He digs his heels into the floor without warning, pulling the first brother precariously backwards. The first brother hauls the former forward, ignoring his protests.

“Not that way,” the second brother whines. “It’s the wrong way. This is all wrong.”

The first brother ignores him. How would _he_ know the wrong way? They can’t turn back now regardless. Their pursuers are too close behind.

They reach the end of the maze, where the prison’s entrance should be. The first brother glimpses the door lies ahead of them. His heart leaps as he lunges for the keypad only to find that the door is locked.

He falls against the door, searching desperately for any crack, any means of prying it open. He catches a glimpse of the world outside through a small window at the top, and the view shocks him: the city streets have disappeared, giving way to a black void.

They’re trapped.

The second brother sinks to the ground and turns his empty sockets upwards, as if to look solemnly at the first.

“Dead end,” he says. “I could hear it.”

The first brother stares at him, dumbfounded. He looks to the hallway. A blaster aimed at his head greets him.

They crumple to the floor in a burst of light.

 

 

 

In retrospect, the fight was neither fair nor wise. Poe Dameron is quite sure of this as he falls to his knees. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. Under other circumstances, he would have spit it into the other man’s face. However, considering he’s doubled over in pain on the ground, he’s hardly in a position to goad his opponents.

The gang has formed a circle around him. The one who hit him in the stomach stands in front, wiping blood from the blow Poe delivered to his nose, muttering Huttese curses. He feels the cold end of a blaster pressed against the side of his head.

“Alright, alright,” Poe gasps. “I’m sorry for the delay, but… but the payment’s coming.”

The blaster pushes harder against his temple. He grits his teeth.

“We’ll get it to you…” he says, “Plus a bonus to make up for it… 2,000 credits on top of the original 15,000.”

The blaster relaxes. The gangsters exchange dubious looks. The one with the bloody nose scoffs.

“You offered 1,000 bonus last time,” he sneers in basic. “Tasu Leech is gonna want a better offer.”

“3,000 then,” Poe says.

The gangster shakes his head.

“3,500?” Poe offers, forcing a smile. “Come on Reez, I’d say that’s a pretty nice deal…”

Reez only scowls, running a finger over the trigger of his blaster.

“25,000 total,” he says. “End of this month.”

To call it a terrible deal would be a euphemism. It’s an impossible debt. Poe knows it, but he also knows the alternative, and judging by the stories he’s heard about Kanjiklub, his options are pretty limited.

The blaster jabs into his temple again, pressing him for an answer.

“25,000 it is,” he grunts. “I’ll let my boss know about the… updated deal.”

The circle backs away from him. He winces as he gets to his feet. They’ve still got their blasters pointed at him, but he can tell it’s all empty intimidation now.

“We’ve got ourselves a deal then?” he asks. “25,000 credits by the end of this month. That’s a 10,000 credit bonus. Kriff. I’d be pretty happy with that.”

“You have a month,” Reez says. “And don’t think you can snatch an extra week running. You get easier to find every fucking time, Dameron.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Poe assures. “Now, where’s BB-8?”

Reez nods at two of the other gangsters, who exit the room. They return shortly after with a very disgruntled BB unit. The droid squeals as it rolls to Poe’s side.

“That droid,” Reez says. “It’s worth a fortune. We catch you again, we’re selling it for parts.”

Poe feels a shiver run down his spine as he steps in front of the droid.

“Trust me,” he says. “You’ll be much happier with the 25,000.”

He turns to the rest of the gang.

“Can I go now?” he asks. “You know I hate to intrude on your hospitality.”

With a few resentful glares, the circle parts, allowing him to leave the ship with his droid. He watches the ship depart from a safe distance down the alley before removing the restraining bolt from the chattering droid.

“I knew what I was doing, Buddy,” he insists. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll drop you off somewhere safe if they come after me again… Tallie or someone…”

The droid lets out a concerned whine.

“No, they won’t come after me again,” Poe says. “So long as we get 25,000 credits by the end of this month, that is.” BB-8 lets out a mechanical sigh. Poe can’t blame him. “I know, I know, Solo’s not going to be happy… but… I’ll think of something.”

He limps back to the place where he remembers leaving their starship. To his relief, the U-Wing is still there, though he’ll probably have to move the ship in the morning before someone complains. He supposes no one in their right mind would want to steal it, unless they were willing to trouble themselves breaking the craft down for scrap metal. It’s hard to believe that this ship once served as one of the Rebellion’s finest weapons.

That was long ago, years ago when the Rebellion still had a chance, but the U-Wing serves its current purpose well. It’s the only thing keeping Poe off the streets. It’s also the only reason he’s still alive after a number of tight situations, though the price of fuel is starting to offset the advantage of a hyperspeed getaway.

He clambers into the ship, followed by BB-8. A brief look around reveals few objects that would be worth selling, unsurprising considering he’s already pawned almost everything that was originally inside.

“We’re going to have to strip the ship down,” he tells the droid. “Get rid of anything that isn’t absolutely necessary. We can remove one of the equilibrium stabilizers. It’ll make flying a little wobbly, but we can manage. That should bring in what… 700, 900 credits?”

_675_ , the droid beeps in binary.

Poe collapses into the pilot’s seat and massages his temples. One hand moves down to his neck where a silver ring dangles on a chain. He runs his finger over the smooth edge of the loop, taking some small comfort in the gesture.

“We’ll think of something.”


	2. Unfamiliar Dealings

Armitage watches the nighttime crowd, trying to take in the scene before him. The street rings with raised voices. The people here are disorderly, moving about in every direction without any conceivable pattern. Some are human. Others walk and speak like humans but look unlike any person he’s ever seen. Some are swaddled in ragged cloaks. Others are scarcely clothed at all.

He shudders, feeling the cold air against his bare skin. He thinks of the warmth of his old room, the soothing familiarity, and though he knows he can’t go back, part of him still misses it.

A few passersby stop to stare at him, their faces twisted in ways he cannot read. An instinctual shiver courses through his veins. He needs to _get out_.

His brother is hunched over beside him, limp against his chains. Ever since the initial futile struggle against their captors at the beginning of the day, he has been unnervingly quiet, as if he’s sunken into a catatonic state. Armitage wonders how many hours, how many _days_ , his brother has wasted away like this in the past. He’d rather not think about it. There are many things about his brother he’d rather not think about.

Armitage tugs at his own chains. They are much cruder than the restraints the doctors used, cutting into his skin as he struggles. Two cuffs bind his wrists together. These in turn are bound to a similar pair of restraints around his legs and another encircling his neck. He feels like a caged animal. The sensation isn’t anything new.

A strap of leather strikes against his back. He cranes his neck to see his attacker, a creature with a humanoid built but inhuman sallow eyes. The creature pushes him to his knees with a broad, clawed hand.

“You quit struggling or I’ll whip the skin off your back,” a male voice growls behind him.

A stream of blood trickles from his wound. Armitage stays down. He scans his surroundings for a hint, a loophole in the challenge, trying to ignore unnecessary information. But there’s _so much of it_ , so many more extraneous stimuli than any simulation he’s ever encountered. He can’t decide where to focus.

Suddenly, his captor pulls him by the chain around his neck. His head jerks upward painfully and he finds himself face to face with yet another stranger.

The stranger is a man, recognizably human unlike the captor. His mouth curls into a smile that is not at all amicable. He grips Armitage’s chin and utters a series of unfamiliar words. The captor replies in a similar manner and the two share a bout of harsh laughter.

Armitage shakes away the man’s hand and recoils until he’s pressed against the wall. The man steps forward, this time landing a firm hand on Armitage’s shoulder. He mutters more incomprehensible phrases as his hand snakes downwards.

Armitage feels his heart race violently. He lunges forward by pure instinct, letting his fingernails dig into the man’s face. He’s pulled away by his chain as the man falls backwards with a yell of surprise, clutching his cheek. The man exchanges a few harsh words with the captor before disappearing into the crowd.

Armitage slumps down against the wall. Adrenaline courses through his blood. He’s shaking now, petrified by a nameless fear.

“Armitage?”

He turns to see his brother facing him, lips parted slightly in concern.

“Are… are y-you hurt?” the latter stammers.

“I think s…”

Armitage’s reply is cut short by the bite of the whip against his stomach. He cringes, curling into himself and extending his hands as far as his restraints will allow to shield the blows. The lashes come mercilessly as his captor castigates him with more furious, unfamiliar words.

He thinks of his past caretakers. He had been punished then too, but however horrific the consequences had been for his missteps, the caretakers had always been neat about their message. The captors he faces now are a different danger entirely. The beating is vicious, driven with rage unlike anything he’s endured in the past. The rashness terrifies him.

“Woah! What’s going on here?”

A new voice rings over the noise of the crowd. The captor relaxes the whip, allowing Armitage a gasp of reprieve. His eyes water as he lifts his head to view the owner of the voice, another man, this one younger than the last. The man stands with his arms crossed, next to what looks like a spherical machine of sorts, which emits a strew of high-pitched beeps.

“Bad-tempered slave,” the captor grumbles. “Needs to learn respect. You got a problem with that?”

“Don’t you think you’re… damaging the merchandise?” the young man pauses, glancing at Armitage who watches warily from the ground. “He is your merchandise, isn’t he? Pretty good-looking merchandise at that.”

_Merchandise._ Armitage remembers his Mentor using the term in a simulation to refer to hypothetical goods. The fictional merchandise, his Mentor explained, was his to trade or keep however he saw fit. He could determine the value, raise or lower the cost as he pleased, discard if it was no longer worth keeping.

He looks at his brother, sees his own face, blinded and beaten. He thinks now of merchandise and wonders if that’s all they’ve ever been, merchandise for mentors, doctors and caretakers to keep and discard at will. Perhaps he was just too stupid to realize it before.

“What? You like him?” the captor scoffs at the man. “You don’t look like you got the credits for a pleasure slave.”

 “Hey,” the man says with a laugh. “Doesn’t matter whether I _look_ like I have the credits so long as I have them, right?”

Armitage watches the dealings from the ground, wavering between confusion and fear. He’s heard the word “pleasure slave” multiple times since his most recent imprisonment. He hasn’t any inkling of a definition, but the mere tone in which the term is uttered is enough to make his hair stand on end.

He looks again at the new man speaking with his captor. At least he isn’t staring at him in the predatory manner of the previous man. Still, Armitage knows better than to trust people by their faces alone.

His brother inches towards him, as far as the chains will allow, and extends a hand to brush Armitage’s arm.

“You’re hurt,” his brother says. “Bleeding… they hurt you…”

“Shh!” Armitage hushes him.

Their captor sees them out of the corner of his eye but, to Armitage’s relief, is too preoccupied with his current business to bother separating them. The conversation has switched to the incomprehensible words again. Armitage recalls his early mentors speaking of different languages, though he’d never thought too deeply about what that meant until now.

“So, you got the credits or are you just wasting my time here?” the captor demands.

“Well, how much d’you want?” the man asks. He nods at Armitage and adds in a lowered voice, “I can do at least 1,000 credits for a pretty face like that.” His eyes wander to Armitage’s brother. “And I’ll do 1,750 for two of them.”

The machine beside him whirs as if in dissent. The man mutters something to it. To Armitage’s surprise, the machine almost _looks_ appeased.

“What, are you building a harem?” the captor asks with another jarring chuckle.

“Hey, let’s keep things focused on the business,” the man replies smoothly. “So, how does 1,750 credits sound for the two of them?”

The captor nods. The conversation drops to a volume inaudible from Armitage’s distance. The man takes out a small pack from his coat, and, after checking its contents, slips the captor something from inside. The captor inspects the objects, which appear to be thin pieces of metal. He then beckons at the man with a grunt of approval.

The pair makes their way over to where the two brothers are crouched against the wall. Armitage feels his heart pound even harder than ever. His eyes dart around the street, desperately searching for a means of escape. He finds none.

“They’re all yours then,” the captor says to the man.

Before Armitage can make sense of what’s happening, his captor yanks him to his feet by the chain. The creature does the same with his brother, who staggers at the sudden motion, dragging them both towards the man with the machine.

“Your new master,” the captor spits at them. “You’d better behave. I’ve been soft on you. You’ve been a lucky one. Try your tricks again and you’ll see what happens. You’ll learn.” The creature jabs the handle of his whip into Armitage’s stomach to emphasize the threat, evoking a hiss of pain.

The man called “the new master” takes hold of the chains. For a fleeting moment, his confident air give way to a look of disgust. He murmurs something to his machine, which bobs its semispherical top as if to nod.

Armitage glowers at the man but decides against struggling. He strains against the hand cuffs to rest a hand on his brother’s wrist, as if to tell him not to bother. Here, they are caged with no way out, making it useless to resist. But if they wait, if they let the man take them away to wherever they’re going, perhaps their odds will be better.

They haven’t been very fortunate searching for better chances. The idea of a kinder Elsewhere seems more absurd with every day. At times, Armitage almost regrets leaving. Then, he remembers where they came from, what they evaded, and he strengthens his resolve.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” the man calls back at the creature, who has settled down to pour over his metal pieces, “credits”, Armitage assumes. The man tightens his grip on the chains.

“Let’s go,” he says, starting down the street.

Armitage follows behind, trying not to wince from the stinging whip wheals strewn across his back. He gives his brother a slight nudge as they approach a corner. The latter is trembling, muttering to himself:

“1,000 credits… 1,750 for the two of them… 1,000… 1,750…”

The man leading them continues to talk to his machine, which rolls along beside him.

“I know, Buddy,” he says. “I don’t like this either… yeah, I know we’re tight but 1,750 is nothing next to the profit…”

They turn off of the main street and continue down a lonelier alley. Armitage wonders whether to make his move now. He’s a few inches taller than the man but the latter is more muscular. In his injured and restrained state, any attack attempted alone could be suicidal. With the help of his brother, they might be able to overpower the man, but that would take coordination.

_No_ , Armitage decides, _A better time will come._

So, he waits, bowing his head with the sort of feigned resignation he’s so accustomed to. His brother takes the signal and does the same, muttering his refrain of numbers to himself as he goes.

They’ve freed themselves before. They can do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive feedback is appreciated! I will do my best to keep this updated regularly.


End file.
